Return from the Past

By Michael D. Young

Enjoying the combination of wetness between the steady rain pour and splashes of the rough waters of the Oconee River, a kayaker spotted something stuck between a rock and a water tree. It wasn't until he glided over there, that he discovered that it was a person. And the person was DEAD....

RETURN FROM THE PAST with Sheriff Michael Roland as he faces the arduous task of capturing a serial killer that slipped through the Feds hands almost one year ago.

THE MADMAN IS BACK.....


Other FROM THE PAST titles include: HIDDEN FROM THE PAST
WHISPERS FROM THE PAST
SECRET'S FROM THE PAST

And just remember readers... all futures begin FROM THE PAST.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463419448

Michael D. Young

Michael is a graduate of Brigham Young University and Western Governors University with degrees in German teaching, music, and instructional design. Though he grew up traveling the world with his military father, he now lives in Utah with his wife, Jen, and his two sons. Michael enjoys acting in community theater, playing and writing music, and spending time with his family. He played with the handbell choir Bells on Temple Square for several years and is now a member of the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square. He publishes anthologies for charity in his Advent Anthologies series. He has also had work featured in various online and print magazines such as Bards and Sages Quarterly, Mindflights, Meridian, The New Era, Allegory, and Ensign.

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© 2011 Michael D. Young. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/11/2021

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1946-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1945-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1944-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011909536

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For

(My Grandmother) Rebecca Fitzgerald Smith

(My Father)

Leon Willis Young

And

(My Brother) Leonard Young

(Mother-In-Law) Alma Jean Summers

CHAPTER 1

When the rain season falls down on Dublin County; the hard streams of rain pours two days at a time. It was during one of those two day down-pours that Dublin County Sheriff Edgar Broth received an emergency call. A man kayaking along the Oconee River enjoying the combination of wetness between the steady rain pour and the splash of the rough river waters discovered someone stuck between a river rock and a water tree. It wasn’t until he glided over there, that he found out the person was dead. Sheriff Broth speaking, Sheriff, my name is Pete Shaffer . . . I’ve just pulled the body of a woman from the Oconee River. She’s probably been dead for some time. I left her on the edge of the riverbank off of highway 441 so I could call you. Where are you calling from now, Mr. Shaffer? My truck sir . . . It’s not far from where I left her. I’m on my way Mr. Shaffer. It’s going to be hard to find that exact point you’re at, with all of this rain; so stay on the main highway where we can see you, and turn on your emergency lights. Alright Sheriff . . . I’ll be waiting.

Sheriff Broth sighed for a moment, before getting up from his desk. His tall six-foot-five, two-hundred and fifty-pound heavy frame carried the look of a line-backer. He yelled out to his assistant deputy inspector as he walked out of his office. Brianna! I want you to come with me. Some fool was out canoeing or something in this rainy shit and found a body in the river near highway 441.

Jamie Brianna stood up. She too is tall, not as tall as her boss, but five-ten is a good height for a woman. She had short brown curly hair, olive skin, and big brown eyes; her uniform had a snug fit, showing her lean, curvy figure. She and the Sheriff left the station.

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Sheriff Broth turned off of route 80, onto highway 441. They slowed just outside of Robins Air Force Base in a town called Brewton. The forceful rain poured in road-blinding streams. Brewton sat on the county boundary line. The Sheriff and Brianna saw the emergency lights of a vehicle sitting on the roadside. I see him Sheriff, Brianna said. He’s standing in front of his truck, waving . . . ! I see him too. He probably saw our flashers as we were approaching. It’s our fucking luck that this shit had to happen in a rainy, wet mess like this, the Sheriff muttered.

The Sheriff’s vehicle pulled up behind the Dodge ram pick-up truck. Pete Shaffer ran over to their vehicle. They got out. This way officer’s, Pete Shaffer said, as he started across the road; through a patch of trees and grassy marsh, that led down to the riverbank’s edge. They followed him.

Pete Shaffer still had on his wet suit and kayak helmet. Sheriff Broth and his deputy inspector Jamie Brianna saw the women’s body as soon as they entered the clearing. The heavy rain pour lightened up, but still came down as a light, steady non-stop flow. Sheriff Broth and Brianna stood over the woman’s body. There was no need second guessing her being dead. It was clearly obvious; the way her skin was pallid and her body was ballooned from the rough river water. They also noticed the way the woman’s dead glazy eyes stared into nothingness.

Brianna, the Sheriff said, still looking down at the body, Radio the crime techs and the coroner. Seems to me that the rough river pulled off everything she was wearing . . . . .unless of course she was a hooker.

That wasn’t a nice thing to say Sheriff . . . . ! She still has on a dress, and the poor woman’s dead for Christ-sakes . . . !

Officer’s, how long do you think she’s been dead? Pete Shaffer asked. I won’t know that until I talk to the medical examiner son, Sheriff Broth answered. Where exactly did you find her Mr. Shaffer? Brianna asked.

Well, I was rowing about fifty or so yards that way, Pete said, pointing north, up the river. She must have floated from the same direction who knows how long ago, because that’s the way the river current is running. That rock and water tree down there is what she was snagged on. The water isn’t that deep over there, so I just jumped in the water and pulled her with one hand . . . . and my kayak with the other.

Veins of lightning threatened the late afternoon skies with their flashes. The loud rumble of thunder grumbled out its presence before the rain pour came down harder. What is taking these crime scene boy’s and the goddamn meat wagon so long? I don’t want to be out in the shit all night! The Sheriff yelled out. Relax Sheriff, Brianna said. They should be here very shortly."

Well, let’s go back up to the road so we can sit in the car until they come.

The Sheriff, his deputy, and Pete Shaffer walked back up the river bank. As they came out onto the road, the bright lights and flashers of at least a half dozen vehicles were approaching. The coroner pulled in last.

It’s about fucking time, the Sheriff angrily said.

The medical examiner was the first to exit his vehicle. In the other car’s, crime lab tech’s got out in two’s; carrying instruments, duffel bags, and other forensic tools needed to process the area.

Sheriff, Pete Shaffer said, Why do those men have all of that equipment? Do you think she was killed or something?

Well Son, its standard police procedure to process the crime scene, and the body in case the victim’s death resulted in foul play . . . not to say that this is the case, but you never know!

Deputy Inspector Jamie Brianna led the M.E., and the crime scene inspector’s to where the body was; while the Sheriff continued to talk to Pete Shaffer. The Sheriff tried to act paramount in front of the medical examiner and the tech crew. That was one of the reasons why he stayed behind until the crew disappeared through the patch of woods.

Mr. Shaffer, Sheriff Broth said. It’s too rainy and wet out here for me to actually take a written statement from you, but after everyone clears out, I want you to follow me back to the station and write your findings on my report.

No problem Sheriff. Now, let’s go see what’s going on down at the river bank.

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At the scene, Sheriff Broth walked over to Brianna and the medical examiner; they were bent down, close to the woman’s body. Brianna stood up as the Sheriff approached.

There you are Sheriff. I think we have a problem.

Why do you say that?

The medical examiner said that the body had been in the water for at least three days. Although it’s been bloated with water and gases from the body decay, it appears to the medical examiner, that foul play is the cause of death.

What! The Sheriff said loudly."

Even though she’s been in the water for all of that time, the bruises on her neck, and the teeth marks on her inner thigh are clearly visible. The M.E. believes that strangulation killed her . . . not the water . . .

The rain slowed again. The night was coming quickly, taking its course. Threats of lightning still lingered in the darkened sky. Most of the river’s edge was searched by the crime scene crew. A few of the crime technicians’ stayed behind to bag the woman’s body. They put it on the back of the coroner’s wagon.

Sheriff Broth, The medical examiner yelled out.

Yes Joe. What’s up? He answered, referring to Dr. Joseph Winger by his first name, in short.

Come by my office tomorrow morning. I’ll have a full post mortem for you as to how the victim actually died. I noticed skin was under her fingernails, Ed, but I didn’t want to scrape samples in all of this rain. She been attacked . . . . that much I can say.

The next morning, Sheriff Broth and his deputy inspector met with Dr. Joseph Winger at his Dublin County Coroner’s Office. The Medical examiner led the Sheriff and Jamie Brianna through a wide bright corridor, onto an elevator that opened up into a huge autopsy room on the ground level of the two story office building.

Dr. Joseph Winger is an old scrawny little man; his thick bifocal glasses magnified his eyes many times their normal size.

Inside the room, two of the walls were lined with tall, glass cooling units that housed containers and jars of human internal body parts. Several gurneys were spaced throughout the bright lit room. There were only two dead bodies in that examining room at that time; one of them was a middle aged man, who had died as a result of an auto accident and donated his workable organs through his motor vehicle license. Dr. Winger’s medical assistants were closing up the man’s empty body cavity.

The other body was the Jane Doe that had been brought in early yesterday evening, from the Oconee riverbank. Her nude corpse was laying spread eagle on the metal gurney, with a small instrument table next to it. The table contained scalpels, solutions, and other medical instruments that pathologist’s used for Post-Mortem examinations.

Dr. Winger, the Sheriff and his deputy walked over to the Jane Doe. The three of them stood over the body before the doctor dictated his findings.

Sheriff, Deputy, I’ve worked fairly late last night . . . and very early this morning! After thoroughly examining this woman’s body, I can clearly come to my conclusion. The victim was murdered and raped.

Didn’t you mean to say raped and murdered Dr. Winger? Deputy Brianna asked.

No deputy . . . . I meant it the way I said it . . . . murdered then raped!

Explain Joe, the Sheriff said.

Well, to start with; when I first noticed the bite mark on her thigh yesterday a bell went off in my head.

What do you mean Joe? Just explain! the Sheriff said, cutting the medical examiner off.

Alright, I knew from the examining her body at the riverbank, that she had been dead for at least three days or more, but even though her pallid skin, the teeth marks seemed to have happened within the past thirty-six hours. After testing the bruises on her neck and comparing those blood-cells with the blood cells on her inner thigh, it’s clear to me that the inner thigh contusions are more recent than the neck contusions. I also checked her anal and vaginal area; the traces of blood and semen found in the anal canal suggest forceful penetration. I tested and analyzed samples of the DNA. The blood is hers. The semen is the perpetrators . . . The blood cells depicted lyses before the sperm cell’s died, Ed.

The Sheriff and his deputy studied the dead woman’s body harder. The Sheriff focused his attention more on the bite mark and her neck contusions. His mind’s eye went back six months; when he first saw the news reports from Tarrytown, the shocking news about a serial killer on the loose. He remembered finding the Red Ford F-150 and the contents in it. Now part of Tarrytown’s horrifying past resurfaced in his county.

The woman lying on the gurney no longer looked ballooned and water-logged; she looked slender in appearance, with beautiful blond hair. Her eyes were closed, as if she was resting from a rough night of steamy sex.

Is there any way of finding out who this woman is medically, Dr. Winger? Brianna asked.

If I find out anything, I’ll inform you and the Sheriff, but she could have traveled for miles down that river, so it might take some time.

Thanks for your time Joe, the Sheriff said. I’ll give you a call in a day or so. The Sheriff and his deputy left.

On the drive back to the Sheriff’s Station, no words were said between Edgar Broth and Jamie Brianna; both of their minds were pre-occupied with their own inner thoughts.

The deputy inspector too, knew about the Tarrytown and Montgomery County murders. She too, knew that the killer was never caught, but as times passed, and leads get cold, Jamie knew that people tend to forget, or don’t want to be reminded about the horrible tragedies of the past; mainly when it didn’t happen in one’s own town or county. The deputy wondered if Sheriff Broth’s shared the same silent thinking page she was on, wondering their next move.

They entered Dublin Township, and pulled into the Station house parking lot. The morning was cloudy, and muggy. The sheriff and Brianna both rushed to the Station house door to feel the comforts of the Station’s central air. After they entered, the Sheriff explained to his deputy what he wanted her to do.

I need you to go to Tarrytown on my behalf and fill Sheriff Michael Roland in our findings. If he has any questions that you can’t handle, tell him to call me."

Why won’t you go talk to him . . . . I mean—you being the Sheriff and all? Brianna asked curiously.

Because I don’t want to go talk to that . . . . .Just do as I ask and go tell him about our discovery, and what the M.E. explained to us.

Alright! Edgar I’ll go.

And Brianna, the Sheriff said, with a raised brow.

Yes?

He might just catch another case of jungle fever once he lays eyes on you . . . . Just don’t fall for that Mandingo bullshit . . . ya hear me?

You know what Sheriff? Brianna snapped.

I don’t understand you sometimes. One minute you’re acting like a civilized peace officer. The next goddamn minute you are acting like a fat piece of prejudiced Shit! I’ll go see Sheriff Michael Roland, but first I am going to my house and change . . . . .Maybe I should wear a short pair of tight daisy dukes and a halter top so he can envision how far he could stick his long black rifle up my ass. Brianna stormed out of the Station house. Son of a bitch!" she said aloud. She jumped into the black and white Sheriff’s car, with a bold gold logo. She saw her boss coming out of the Station house door. She sped off.

Sheriff Broth walked back into the Station house, and into his office. He sighed in anger, but relieved that his deputy inspector went to Tarrytown, to deal with that nigger Sheriff. One last thing Edgar Broth wanted was to deal with another County Sheriff about some slick-ass bullshit that happened in his town over six months ago. He mainly didn’t want to deal with Michael Roland. Broth had heard how Roland became the new Tarrytown Sheriff. That was one of the reasons why Broth insisted that Roland or his fed buddies come get that stolen Ford F-150 that had the bloody white bag in it. Now I have to deal with these motherfucker’s again! The Sheriff said to himself.

CHAPTER 2

During the last day of the rainy season, the end of May, Circus Caravans and concession trucks poured into Tarrytown to set up for the for the big annual event. Opening scheduled for the end of the week. The sky still carried gray cloud cover from the previous thunder showers throughout the month. The five day weather forecast predicted clear sunny skies for this weekend to come.

Most people at Tarrytown were excited, and looking forward to the weekend’s upcoming Town fair. Some people did their usual garage spring cleaning, packing items that they no longer needed, but didn’t want to simply give them away, without receiving at least a quarter on the dollar in return.

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City Clerk’s Office, Tanya Banks speaking."

Hello Tanya, its Michael Roland. Is Marion busy? If so, I’ll . . .

Hold on Michael. Mrs. Whitley is in her office. She’s always saying good things about you . . . just hold on a minute while I connect you through.

Michael held the receiver to his ear, listening to the elevator music that the phone played, after a few minutes of the soft sounds, she came on the line.

Marion Whitley speaking.

Good morning sunshine.

Michael . . . . ! She said. glad to hear his voice. Tanya didn’t say that it was you on the line . . . . . . Sorry for keeping you waiting so long.

That’s ok Marion . . . . I was enjoying the good music anyway.

Well, I just got off of the phone with the Hot-air-balloon people to rides for this weekend. Remember last year when you and I went on that ride . . . . It just blew me away. I want us to do that again this year . . . ok?

I promised you last year we would do that again, didn’t I . . . . ?

Yes you did, but I wanted to make sure that you remembered . . . that’s all!

Anyway, I called to see if you wanted to eat out for dinner . . . . you need a break from the kitchen.

Why thank you. That sounds like a romantic plan. So, what have you been doing all morning Sheriff?

"Let’s see . . . I started my day in